Хеннинг Манкелль - The Man from Beijing

The only plausible reason for her being present on this visit was that she was one of many in the Communist Party who were sceptical about current policies, not least those of Ke. But was she here as a hostage, or in the hope of seeing her change her mind about the policies she found so distasteful? High-ranking Ministry of Agriculture officials and a minister of trade on an uncomfortable car ride in the heart of Mozambique had to mean that the aim of the journey was of major significance.

The countryside flashing past outside the car windows was monotonous — low trees and bushes, occasionally intersected by small rivers and streams, and here and there clumps of huts and small well-tended fields. Hong Qiu was surprised that such fruitful ground was so sparsely populated. In her imagination the African continent was like China or India, a part of the poverty-stricken Third World where endless masses of people fell over one another in their efforts to survive. But what I’ve always imagined is a myth, she thought. The big African cities are not much different from what we see in Shanghai or Beijing. The culmination of catastrophic development that impoverishes both people and nature. But I knew nothing at all about African rural areas until now as I actually see them and travel through them.

They continued in a north-westerly direction. In some places the roads were so bad that the cars had to slow to a walking pace. The rain had penetrated the hard-packed red earth, loosened up the road surface and turned it into deep ruts.

They eventually came to place called Sachombe. It was an extensive village with huts, a few shops and some semi-derelict concrete buildings from the colonial period when the Portuguese administrators and their local assimilados had ruled over the country’s various provinces. Hong Qiu recalled reading about how Portugal’s dictator Salazar had described the gigantic land masses of Angola, Mozambique and Guinea-Bissau, which he ruled with an iron fist. In his linguistic world these distant countries were called ‘Portugal’s overseas territories’. That was where he had sent all his poor, often illiterate, peasants, partly to solve a domestic problem and at the same time to build up a colonial power structure concentrated on the coastal areas even as late as the 1950s. Are we about to do something similar? Hong Qiu wondered. We are repeating the injustice, but we have dressed ourselves in different costumes.

When they left their cars and wiped the dust and sweat from their faces, Hong Qiu discovered that the whole area was cordoned off by military vehicles and armed soldiers. Behind the barriers she could see curious natives observing the strange foreign guests. The poor are always there, she thought — the ones whose interests we say we are looking after.

Two large tents had been erected on the flat stretch of sand in front of the white buildings. Even before the convoy came to a halt a large number of black limousines had assembled, and there were also two helicopters from the Mozambique air force. I don’t know what’s in store, Hong Qiu thought, but whatever it is, it’s something important. What can have made Minister of Trade Ke suddenly agree to visit a country that isn’t even on our programme? A small part of the delegation was due to spend a day in Malawi and Tanzania, but there was no mention of Mozambique.

A brass band came marching up. At the same time a number of men emerged from one of the tents. Hong Qiu immediately recognised the short man leading the way. He had grey hair, wore glasses and was powerfully built. The man who was now greeting Minister of Trade Ke was none other than Mozambique’s newly elected president Guebuza. Ke introduced his delegation to the president and his attendants. When Hong Qiu shook his hand, she found herself looking into a pair of friendly yet piercing eyes. Guebuza is no doubt a man who never forgets a face, she thought. After the introductions, the band played the two national anthems. Hong Qiu stood stiffly to attention.

As she listened to the Mozambique national anthem she looked around for Ya Ru but could see no sign of him. She hadn’t seen him since they arrived in Sachombe. She continued scrutinising the group of Chinese present and established that several others had vanished after the landing in Beira. She shook her head. There was no point in her worrying about what Ya Ru was up to. More important just now was that she should try to understand what was about to happen here, in the valley through which the Zambezi River flowed.

They were led into one of the tents by young black men and women. A group of older women danced alongside them to the persistent rhythm of drums. Hong Qiu was placed in the back row. The floor of the tent was covered in carpets, and every memberof the delegation had a soft armchair. When everybody was comfortably seated, President Guebuza walked up to the lectern. Hong Qiu put on her earphones. The Portuguese was translated into perfect Chinese. Hong Qiu guessed that the interpreter came from the leading school in Beijing that exclusively trained interpreters to accompany the president, the government and the most important business delegations in their negotiations. Hong Qiu had once heard that there wasn’t a single language, no matter how small and insignificant, that didn’t have qualified interpreters in China. That made her proud. There was no limit to what her fellow citizens could achieve — the people who, until a generation ago, had been condemned to ignorance and misery.

Hong Qiu turned to look at the entrance to the tent, which was flapping gently in the breeze. She caught a glimpse of Shu Fu standing outside, a few soldiers, but no sign of Ya Ru.

The president spoke very briefly. He welcomed the Chinese delegation and said a few introductory words. Hong Qiu listened intently in order to understand what was going on around her.

She gave a start when she felt a hand on her shoulder. Ya Ru had slipped into the tent unnoticed and was kneeling behind her. He slid aside one of her earphones and whispered into her ear.

‘Listen carefully now, my dear sister, and you will understand something of the major events that are going to change our country and our world. This is what the future will look like.’

‘Where have you been?’

She blushed when she realised how idiotic the question must sound. It felt like when he was a child and was late coming home. Hong Qiu had often taken on the role of Mum when their parents were away at one of their frequent political meetings.

‘I go my own way. But I want you to listen now and learn something. About how old ideals are exchanged for new ones, without losing their content.’

Ya Ru placed the earphone back over her ear and hurried out through the door of the tent. She caught sight of his bodyguard Liu Xan and wondered once again if it really was he who had killed all those people Birgitta Roslin had spoken about. She made up her mind that as soon as she got back to Beijing she would speak to one of her friends in the police force. Liu Xan never did anything without having been ordered to do so by Ya Ru. She would confront Ya Ru eventually, but first she must find out more about what actually happened.

The president handed the podium over to the chairman of the committee that had made the preparations for this meeting on the Mozambique side. He was strikingly young, with a bald head and frameless glasses. Hong Qiu thought they said his name was Mapito, or possibly Mapiro. He spoke enthusiastically, as if what he was saying really inspired him.

And Hong Qiu understood. The circumstances slowly became clear, what the meeting was all about, the secrecy surrounding it. Deep in the Mozambique bush a gigantic project was getting under way, involving two of the poorest countries in the world — but one of them a great power, the other a small country in Africa. Hong Qiu listened to what was being said, the soft Chinese voice translating after each pause, and she understood why Ya Ru had wanted her to be present. Hong Qiu was a vigorous opponent of everything that could lead to China being transformed into an imperial power — and hence, as Mao used to say, a paper tiger that would be crushed sooner or later by united popular resistance. Perhaps Ya Ru had a faint hope that Hong Qiu would be convinced that what was now going on would bring advantages to both countries? But more important was that the group Hong Qiu belonged to did not frighten those in power. Neither Ke nor Ya Ru were scared of Hong Qiu and those who shared her views.